entered a new type of country where the Tsavo ran in cañons between
hills. The high cliffs often towered far above us; we had to pick our
way along narrow river ledges; again the river ran like a trout stream
over riffles and rapids, while we sauntered along cleared banks beneath
the trees. Had we not been making a forced march under terrific heat at
just that time, this last phase of the river might have been the
pleasantest of all.

Throughout the whole course of our journey the rhinoceros was the most
abundant of the larger animals. The indications of old tracks proved
that at some time of the year, or under some different conditions, great
herds of the more gregarious plains antelope and zebra visited the
river, but at the time of our visit they were absent. The rhinoceroses,
however, in incredible numbers came regularly to water. Paradoxically,
we saw very few of them, and enjoyed comparative immunity from their
charges. This was due to the fact that their habits and ours swung in
different orbits. The rhinoceros, after drinking, took to the hot, dry
thorn scrub in the low hills; and as he drank at night, we rarely
encountered him in the river bottoms where we were marching. This was
very lucky, for the cover was so dense that a meeting must necessarily
be at close quarters. Indeed these large and truculent beasts were
rather a help than a hindrance, for we often made use of their wide,
clear paths to penetrate some particularly distressing jungle. However,
we had several small adventures with them: just enough to keep us alert
in rounding corners or approaching bushes--and nine-tenths of our travel
was bushes and corners. The big, flat footsteps, absolutely fresh in the
dust, padded methodically ahead of us down the only way until it seemed
that we could not fail to plump upon their maker around the next bend.
We crept forward foot by foot, every sense alert, finger on trigger.
Then after a time the spoor turned off to the right, towards the hills.